User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/Nine Masks for Mother Ashna (Part 1)
Prelude Okay, so, I said I'd be doing a story about this guy fighting this guy, but I got much more positive feed back on this idea, so I trashed the old one. Besides, I wanted to do this more anyway. It takes place roughly seventeen years after Return of the King, ''and follows the story of some of the stuff Dacian does that is mentioned in the epilogue, and also ties up his remaining sub-plot: the bizarre and goofy dreams he was having since Part 2 . This was a pretty big RP for me because it was my first omega one with some of y'all, and I had a lot of fun with it. So, tell me what you think in the comments section and all, whether I should continue, if you give a shit etc. Anyway, here goes nothing. Nine Masks for Mother Ashna: Chapter 1 Markarth drifted into view out from behind the mountains and Dacian thought it had never looked uglier. Dwemer structures were too practical- not enough beauty. But the city had another kind of significance now. It was, after all, the place he had met his wife . And he supposed places like that were important. In fact, she was the reason why he as here now. Although the purpose was much different than an anniversary visit. Dacian leaned away to the carriage window, and approached the little slot from which he could view the driver’s box. “Driver.” Dacian beckoned in his characteristically deep, rich voice. The harsh edge had been rubbed out of it by fatherhood, a peaceful homelike, and general happiness with his situation. All of which were new things for Dacian. He was still, however, incredibly condescending to those whom did not have his respect. “How close are we to the city?” He continued. “Only a kilometer out, sir.” The driver replied. “We’ll be there in the hour.” Dacian normally would’ve told the driver that wasn’t good enough and insisted he hurry it up, but instead sat back and just nodded slightly, having much on his mind. _____________________________________________________________________________________ Not an hour later, Dacian dropped down onto his feet from the cart, standing at the gates of Markarth. As his boot hit the ground it made a disgusting squishing sound, and upon further inspection it was revealed he had stepped in horse manure. “Glorious.” He grumbled to himself, hoping over to wipe the shit off on the horse master’s front step. They were nice boots, so he deemed it a fitting punishment. Once that was done, he proceeded into the city. A guard was waiting for him inside. He’d written ahead, so he was well prepared for. If anything, the garrison expected him to make more of an appearance. But it was only Dacian. Not that he wasn’t spectacular in himself, with his shiny Breton armor, red cape, and rapier on his hip. As the aforementioned guard approached him, Dacian folded his arms and put on his most judgmental look, trying to appear imposing. The guard began, “We’ve been awaiting your arrival, my lord.” ''That’s more like it. ''It felt good to be respected. “The house is ready for your arrival.” “Excellent. No one has been inside since?” “No, your lordship. We’ve sealed it off, and posted a sentry outside." “Magnanimous. Guide me to it immediately.” The guard did so, taking Dacian across the ancient city, to the building he desired. A simple, two bedroom house, the once home of Tyra Morgan. The sentry stepped aside as Dacian approached the door and the Breton pushed his way inside. Once, door opened for him without lifting a finger, but such displays of power could no longer be afforded. The guard moved to follow him, but Dacian halted them. “No. Just me.” The good Nords obeyed immediately, and Dacian entered the darkened dwelling alone. The inside was dusty and cover in a good number of cobwebs. He slowly pulled off his carriage gloves and slid them into a strap of his armor before he began stepped around the entry hall. There were still the blood stains of the assassins that had come for Dvorak. A knocked over chair from when someone had stood up too fast. The bed was even still unmade from when Dacian had lain an unconscious Kay down in it. No one cared for a place like this. The noble slowly stepped around the room, his soft leather boots padding the floor. The answer to his dreams was here. What he was searching for. The thing that would restore his power. Arrietty , the traitorous kinswoman, had needed a weapon. Dacian, being a mage and all, didn’t. He’d loaned her his Dragon Priest staff, but it’d been lost in the fight with those assassins. It was here. Somewhere. He raised his hand and soon an orb of light sparkled to life, before rising over his head, illuminated the house in an eerie glow. He crouched down, looked under furniture, tipped over cupboards, until he finally discovered it underneath a bookcase. It must’ve rolled there seventeen years ago and never was disturbed since. He pulled the dirty thing free from its trap. It’s bronze make was covered in dust, giving it a dead, gray appearance. It didn’t matter. This staff wasn’t important for its aesthetic reasons. It was important for the crack in its head, most likely from Dacian knocking a blow aside. And thus the fog was cleared, the dreams explained. Dacian had unwittingly directly exposed himself to the dragon priest’s magic. Even now, the damaged portion of the staff hummed with the same energy of the Wooden Mask. They, the masks -or whatever power lay dormant in them- were calling him for ''that reason. That’s why the Mask had found him in the first place. The exposure to such magic and his ability at the time would have made him the ultimate forebear to the Dragon Priest’s powers. He knew what was at the Dragon Priest’s shrine. He knew what he needed to acquire Konahrik, an artifact that restored life and conjured spirits. Just what he needed. He did not need his powers that took life. He needed ones that restored it. Kay, his wife, one of the only important people in his life, was dying. Far before her time. It was a slim lead, finding these masks, but it was the best he had. Staff in hand, he exited the building. “All is well, Monsieur?” The guard questioned, glancing at the staff. “Yes, go on your way.” Dacian said, not even looking at the two guards, as he headed for the carriage. The driver wasn’t there, which Dacian questioned. Perhaps he is getting feed for the horses? Regardless, now would be a good time to examine his luggage. He climbed up into the carriage, pulled the hatched on its floor open, and was very surprised with what he found. “What are ''you doing?!” 'Chapter 2 ''' Category:Blog posts Category:Stories Category:Return of the King